


Watching, Wanting

by imitateslife



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Pharoga - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not the first time Nadir realizes it, but as Christine accepts Erik, he knows just how much he really desires Erik. Unrequited E/N slash, with a side portion of Erik/Christine. </p><p>Contains non-graphic depictions of sex.</p><p>Original can be found on FFN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching, Wanting

She takes his mask and it flutters to the ground almost soundlessly. She breathes his name once.

_"Erik."_

They have forgotten- for the moment- that I am here. But I am watching. I should feel immensely guilty. I do. Yet I cannot pull my eyes away from the sight before me. The corpse and his bride. Erik and his living wife. My cheeks are hot and burn brighter with every exchanged touch between them. My breath quickens with each kiss. I groan with each caress. I can almost feel them upon my skin.

Almost.

Most men standing where I am would take note of Christine Daae's dress falling to the ground, revealing her naked curves, but to me, it hardly registers. I cannot pull my eyes from him. I watch Erik standing there, with her in his arms, fully exposed as he never has been before. He never has been for me in any case. No clothes, no mask... No pretenses, no barriers. The stirrings of jealousy rumble in my chest as I watch them move to the bed and see their single moment of hesitation before they lose themselves in the ultimate physical pleasure. My mouth is dry as I watch him gently—oh so gently—transition from bottom to top, instinct overcoming trepidation. He kisses every exposed inch of her skin and she responds with contented sighs and moans. Each kiss placed on her makes my heart twist in pain in my chest with jealousy. And though I do not shut my eyes, my mind wanders back to another pair, entwined thusly, as they were watched carefully.

She was not my wife. In fact,she never shared more than my bed. She was young, lithe, sweet faced. Nothing special. A horrid thing to say, perhaps, but she was not—and never would be—the love of my life. Still, my body ached for her touch. No. Not her touch. My body ached to be touched. But it was never her hand I specifically desired. She knew it. I knew it. Sometimes I thought the whole world knew it.

The servants often said I was too in love with my late wife to desire any woman but her.

Still, despite the talk around my household, this servant girl faithfully came to my quarters many times over the course of the years. I was grateful to alleviate myself when I could no longer stand to go without. But that fateful night, as our bodies moved together in the silent dance of intimacy, I did not think of Rookheeya. Her beautiful face was not what greeted me when I closed my eyes to imagine.

Long, pale fingers, I imagined, gently caressing my face and moving to grip my hips. Thin, dry lips kissing my skin and making trails down my body. Each touch set my soul on fire. Each kiss lifted me higher to a place of sheer bliss. There was a rhythm, in my mind, to our movements. We fit. It felt so right, like I was truly making love properly for the first time in years. In the dark of my mind, I could not see my imagined partner's face, but two hauntingly familiar, golden eyes looked back up at me in the darkness. And suddenly, I knew. I knew who I craved, who I yearned for. And at the apex of pleasure, I couldn't help myself. A single name tumbled from my lips:

_"Oh, Erik."_

It was my first and only intelligible moan the entire night. I suppose in the past I'd reached this climax and called out Rookheeya's name to the poor girl beneath me. But never Erik's. Never, anyways, until then. My eyes rolled ceiling ward and closed for a moment as we reached the end. But they flew open towards the door and I saw a shadow grimly waiting for me there. And those same golden eyes of my fantasy widened with shock. I had enough sense to know what I had done. I looked down at the girl, whose expression almost matched Erik's: horrified, silent shock.

I felt so wretched to buy her silence for life, but I couldn't have her telling my household of my slip of the tongue. It would, no doubt, reach my betters and lose me the estate and comfortable living necessary for my son's failing health. As for Erik, I knew he would never tell a soul. He pretended the next day and the next that he had not been there. That he didn't know. That he hadn't heard. But he knew. He'd seen and he'd heard. Just as I did now. I never knew why he watched me that night, just as I am certain he will never know why I now watched him and Christine Daae make love.

My ragged, excited breath caught in my chest as they reached their crescendo in that coffin of a bed. It was like the final bit of a grand duet. Her cry of pleasure—and his—both rose into the night like music. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't look away.

And when it was all over, I hear two voices moan—mine and hers—quietly, passionately.

_"Erik."_

He looks up and ours eyes meet, as they had all those years ago in Persia. Painted upon his face is the same horror I had burned into my brain many years before. He looks past Christine Daae’s bare shoulder and his eyes bore into mine questioningly. I now know why he'd never told me what he knew. Slowly, I begin to edge out of the room. My heart shrivels in upon itself as I remember who and what I am: an old fool, so long in painful, unrequited, and unacknowledged love with a monster. I know now that it didn’t matter how I felt, Erik truly loves Christine Daae. I never stood a chance. Erik did not – does not – love me.

Never me.

**Author's Note:**

> Before you ask, _yes_ , I realize that it's weird for Nadir to be there, but in Kay, he _is_ and in fact prevents Raoul de Chagny from going into the room to see what is happening between Erik and Christine. He tells Raoul in Kay that he has "no right" to know what's going on in that room. In this phic, I imagine he prevents Raoul from entering because he doesn't want the vicomte to know the same pain he himself has just endured, watching his beloved make love to someone else.


End file.
